No Risk, No Glory
by KutabareKawaii
Summary: Who would have thought that one little confession could destroy everything we know? Young RanLay, One-Shot.


**'Ello dear readers; just wanted to say that this is my first attempt at some RandallxLayton. It's...a bit rushed at most parts, and some just don't make any sense, but what can I say? I'm just not as good of an author as others. :) Oh, and I do NOT own Professor Layton in any way.**

**Please note that I am not trying to be offensive in any way, shape, or form with this story. I do not discourage Homosexuality. Everyone is free to do whatever they like with their lives.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_Dear Randall,_

_You're obviously wondering why I decided to write my words down on paper rather than speak them aloud, and the answer is simple: Complications. _

_If I were to tell you what I needed to tell you out in the open, then there was the likelihood that someone would overhear our conversation, not to mention that I just cannot simply say this aloud without looking like a complete idiot. So I figured that writing this letter was the best of my choices; that way, I could still be there, even when I hadn't spoken a single word. It…probably does not make sense to you, but it does for me. It actually means quite a lot, really._

_I'm sorry, I'm rambling on even in a letter. How silly of me._

_Look, I'll just say it bluntly: I love you. I have so for quite some time now. Everything about you just seems to attract me in the oddest of ways; Your charm, your enthusiasm, your…ugh, I could go on and on all day saying how much I admire you, but then I would be wasting your time. _

_I apologize for making this so…complicated, but I honestly needed to get this off of my chest, Randall. It's been bothering me for so long now, and I know you probably don't feel the same about me, but I can understand why. We are simply friends, males for that matter, and the fact that you are with Angela contradicts that of my own needs._

_Please, just know that…I have, quite literally, fallen for you._

_You're friend,  
Hershel Layton_

* * *

"…W-What is t-t-this?"

Randall Ascot muttered as he read the letter over and over again, as though his own two eyes were playing tricks on him.

Hershel stood before him, hands clasped together behind him as he kept his gaze fixated on the grass beneath their feet. His cheeks had the faintest dust of pink to them.

"It's exactly what it says, Randall." He said softly. "…And I'm quite serious about it."

Hershel breathed out a sigh at the sight of his red-headed friend, who continued to skim through his letter for what should be the 20th time. He had been expecting such a reaction; he knew it was too much to hope for Randall to return his feelings.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was for his own letter, the very thing in which he literally poured his mind and heart into, to be crumpled up by the boy he loved and thrown back at his face. Hershel blinked in shock and looked up, just in time for a fist to meet his face harshly and send him flying a few feet to the side.

"YOU…YOU'RE FUCKING SICK!" Randall screamed angrily. "I ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST AS PURE AS EVERYONE ELSE, BUT NO! YOU'RE SICK! YOU'RE TAINTED!"

"R-Randall…" Hershel whispered, shakily sitting up as he held his now-throbbing cheek.

"NO! Don't you **dare **say my name, Hershel!" The red-head hissed through gritted teeth. "…That's it! I refuse to be friends with someone who even **thinks **like that! Don't even try to talk to me anymore, you sick bastard!" And with that, Randall took off, not once looking back.

Hershel sat there with wide, teary eyes, watching the retreating form of his now-former best friend. There was a stabbing pain in his chest, and with each passing second, it grew heavier and heavier, to the point where it was suffocating him.

A sob tore at his throat…and another, and another.

As he cried, he wondered what was worse: Losing your best friend, or being ridiculed for homosexuality.

* * *

He didn't return home that same day.

Rather, Hershel came staggering back home two days after that little _"incident"_ with grass and dirt clinging onto his all-too-weary frame.

Dark bags had already settled beneath his bloodshot eyes, and the bruise Randall had given him had turned into a nasty dark shade of purple. To say that Lucille and Roland were startled by their son's appearance was an understatement; they were absolutely _petrified _at the state their son was in.

"Oh my goodness! What on earth happened to you, Hershel!?" His mother screamed, appearing by his side in less than four seconds and gently cupping his face. He winced at her touch, but remained silent and allowed her to examine his face for further injuries.

"Where the heck have you been, Hershel!?" His father fumed. "You were gone for two days, Hershel. TWO DAYS! Are you trying to worry us silly?!" The boy still did not utter a single word, and hung his head down in shame. His throat was dry, his stomach was empty, and he hadn't a decent night's rest.

Could they not see that he was not in the mood to talk?

Tuning out whatever else his parents said to him, Hershel silently stood up, pulled away from his Mother's hands, and limped away for his room. He could faintly hear Lucille and Roland yelling at him over his thoughts, but he ignored them. He needed time to think, he needed time to sleep.

And he prayed that he'd either wake up from a terrible nightmare, or he'd never wake up at all.

* * *

People began to ponder.

Hershel had been acting differently since that day. He was constantly late to class, and he was always falling asleep throughout most of the lesson. Sometimes, he was so lost in thought, he wouldn't even realize that classes were finished for the day until someone told him so.

People also wondered why Randall wouldn't speak to him.

The red-head was practically a brother to him; always there and caring about the brown-haired boy. So why is it, when it was obvious that Hershel was in need of serious help, Randall wasn't there for him this time?

They would watch during class, during a time where Hershel was actually awake and not lost in his own little world, and they'd see the two sometimes pass a glance at each other, and then immediately look away, one out of shame, one out of disgust.

Again, the people pondered, but only for a while before they turned this miniscule ordeal into the latest topic of gossip. Hershel couldn't even walk through the halls now without at least one person passing him a pitiful comment or a witty insult.

Only did one of those comments send him over the edge.

"_What's wrong with you? Having a lover's quarrel, are we?"_

They sent Hershel home with suspension for assaulting another student that day.

And again, the people began to ponder.

* * *

Somehow, Hershel gained a visitor.

Henry knew something was terribly wrong with him ever since the _"incident"_, and he was prepared to find out what had happened. Randall refused to speak about it; rather, he refused to speak _anything _that involved Hershel, and that was enough to worry him to the bone.

After some negotiating, Lucille and Roland had somehow managed to convince Hershel to come down for a spot of tea with Henry.

"It's…been a while, Hershel." Leodore said softly as he poured both Hershel and himself a cup of Earl Grey, attempting at a slow, decent conversation.

The brunette simply gave him a silent nod, staring blankly at his tea as though it were foreign to him. Henry already disliked this side of Hershel. He wasn't the friendly gentleman he knew anymore. Whatever turned the boy into this state must have obviously been worse than he expected.

"…Um…H-How have you been?" Henry stammered in a soft, gentle tone. He didn't want to sound like he was some detective demanding answers, but he didn't want to just sit there sipping tea like an idiot either. He'd get to the bottom of this, and he needed his friend's cooperation to do so.

"…I've…been…well." Hershel croaked with a fragile voice. He still wasn't in the mood to talk, and he felt the need to watch what he says carefully. Henry was Randall's servant, after all, so there was the possibility that the red-head sent him out of _"fake concern"_ to gather information that could be used against him.

That, or Hershel was just paranoid.

"Forgive me for being rude, but I highly doubt that." Henry said with a frown, delicately sipping his tea. "You haven't been yourself for quite some time now, Hershel. At least half of Stansbury is talking about you!" He paused, wondering if he should jump straight to the questioning.

"…That's…odd." Hershel murmured as he finally sipped his own tea, grimacing at the scalding, bitter taste that ran down his dry throat. Had Earl Grey always tasted so…_off?_

"So is Master Randall's sudden avoidance of you." Henry said bluntly without as much as a thought. He saw the brown-haired boy tense up suddenly, his hand gripping the handle of his cup so tightly that it could break at any moment.

He raised a brow at this. "…Hershel? Is there something going on between you and Master Randall?"

Hershel was silent, a bead of sweat rolling down his face as he chewed his bottom lip nervously. He didn't want to tell Henry, but at the same time, he did. He needed to confide himself in someone; someone whom he could trust, someone who would comfort him no matter what.

Could Henry play such a role?

"…P-Perhaps…" He finally said after a moment.

Henry hummed and sipped his tea again. He knew that Randall was an unpredictable sort, but just what exactly transpired between the two to leave Hershel in such…_devastation_? He needed to tread carefully now; he didn't want to break whatever was left of the poor male at this point.

"Care to enlighten me?" He asked seriously. "…That is, if you're ready to do so."

_Was he ready? _Hershel honestly did not know.

"…Hershel, _please._" Leodore practically pleaded as he set his tea down and grasped the brown-haired boy's free hand. He looked genuinely concerned and worried. "I can tell you've been bottling this up for a while now, and how much damage it's doing to you. Please, I want to help you! Everyone does!" He said.

'_Everyone except Randall…' _Hershel thought bitterly, pulling his hand away from the latter and turning his attention to something else. He stared at the wall, where a framed picture of he and Randall hung ever-so innocently. He wanted to cry again.

Henry was hurt. Had he still not earned his friend's trust? Or was it simply too much?

…

He decided he had done enough; he'd give Hershel back his space. Murmuring a quiet apology, Henry stood up from the couch, bowed his head, and slowly walked out of the room, out of the Layton household. He did not stop.

Hershel sat there; gaze still fixated on the picture hanging from the wall. His mind had gone blank, and he found it quite difficult to breathe at the moment. Guilt, regret, anger, sorrow, all of which stabbed at his chest endlessly.

He was glad Henry chose that moment to leave; Hershel didn't want to be seen crying.

* * *

Lucille and Roland were enraged.

A few days after Henry's visit, Hershel had disappeared, and all he had left for them was a single letter explaining the _"incident" _and why he was such an emotional-wreck. Several things had been scribbled out and several things were added in at last minute, as though he were in a hurry to write this. Still, it did not explain to where he had gone to, or to what he was planning to do next.

One line in particular, however, sent them into a fit.

"_There is simply no place for people like I in the pure, kind town of Stansbury."_

That day, they stormed off for the Ascot Manor and demanded to speak with Mr. Ascot and his son. They berated them with questions as to why Randall would do such a cruel thing to his best friend, to which his father answered in simple terms:

"_He is no friend of my son. Randall did the right thing; telling that sick man off."_

Roland was then dragged out of the manor by the servants, who struggled in an attempt to free himself and strangle this poor excuse for a father. Lucille knew better than to resort to violence, but that did not stop her from throwing nasty insults at their way before she too left.

Once things had settled in the manor, Henry confronted Randall.

"I-Is this true, Master Randall?" He muttered.

"…Yes." Randall said softly, staring blankly out the window of his room.

"W-Why? Why would you reject him though? Were you not his best friend!?" Henry demanded.

"I had to reject him." The red-head said automatically. "As the only son of the Ascot Family, I am the next heir to the Ascot business. Father is against the idea, however, because I am _"unfit" _for such a task. Just like how I want to prove to Angela's family that I am not some idiot with impossible ideas, I want to prove to Father that I am a man he could trust and love. Therefore, I am pure, and shall not be tainted by such temptations." He said.

Henry was flabbergasted.

"So basically, Hershel wasn't worth _anything _to you?!" He growled.

Randall immediately turned to glare at the servant. "Now you listen here, Henry. Hershel was _everything _to me, and—"

"Apparently not if you choose some stupid business over him!" Henry screeched. He was going to get in a lot of trouble for this, no doubt, but at that moment, he seemed like the only one left defending for Hershel. "If you _did _care for him, you wouldn't have rejected him the way you did! You could have told him _kindly; _or perhaps even tell him the truth behind why you two couldn't be together, but no! You decide to completely _shatter _him!" He was fuming now.

"Henry, I swear, if you don't shut up—"

"NO! I WILL NOT! HAVE YOU EVEN SEEN THE DAMAGE YOU'VE DONE TO HERSHEL? OF COURSE NOT, BECAUSE YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE BESIDES BUSINESS! IS ANGELA PART OF THE DEAL TOO? FIND A SUITABLE WIFE AND WOO HER TO TIE BUSINESS RIVALRY?"

"…Yes…" Randall replied softly, slowly turning back to the window as the glare melted away. "Angela…I do like her, but as a friend only. I don't want to be in a relationship with her…but…father promised me that if I asked for her hand in marriage, then he might reconsider handing over the business to me in the future." He said honestly.

Henry growled, taking deep, slow breaths in an attempt to calm himself; failing miserably.

"Did you even _consider _what it would be like to be in a relationship with him?" He asked in a low tone. "The Master Randall _I _knew would _never _turn down a friend, no matter _what_."

Randall remained silent.

"…What happened to no risk, no glory?" Henry spat, but didn't bother to stay for a response. He turned and walked away, leaving the wide-eyed red-head all alone with his thoughts.

_No risk, no glory…_

* * *

"How could you say such a thing!?"

Randall continued to stare blankly at the ground, ignoring the now-throbbing pain in his cheek. Angela stood before him, fuming and crying. He didn't care…at least, _not anymore._

"I'm sorry Angela…but I don't love you that way." He said in a serious tone. "I only pretended to because of Father's wish. I'm sorry…"

The platinum-blonde girl sobbed and pushed him away. "R-Randall, you idiot!" Was the last thing he'd heard before she spun on her heel and ran off, not looking back.

He stood there, raising a hand to touch his burning cheek, and winced.

Was this what Hershel felt when he rejected him?

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Hershel's disappearance.

His parents had already given up hope of their son returning home, and were planning to move away from Stansbury in the future. They needed to get away from this place; there were just too many painful memories.

The townsfolk continued to speak of the lost brown-haired boy, gossiping about the possible causes for what had started this whole mess and concluding even more possibilities as to how it ended. Some say he was dead, while others said he's still alive, but no one knew for sure.

No one.

Angela was forced in an engagement with Alphonse, and she was _not _happy about it. What could she have possibly done though? The only rich families in Stansbury were the Ascots and the Dalstons, and since Randall was only _using _her, that left her with the latter.

News of the confession spread throughout the town quite fast; perhaps even farther. Mr. Ascot was _not _happy with his son's decision, and thus, Randall lost all chances of inheriting the Ascot Business. The red-head did not seem to care though, rather, he was glad to lose such a thing. It pinned him down; holding back his true potential.

He was free at last.

Henry was there for him, congratulating him and saying how proud he was to do such a risky thing. Randall gladly accepted the praise this time, but he was not done yet. There was still one thing that needed to be done, and that was to confront Hershel Layton himself.

However, he still had yet to return.

But that was okay; Randall could wait. He knew that he messed up big time, and he knew that his perfect life had crumbled away, but he was strong, and so was Hershel. There was no way he could have easily died so quickly, and he knew that he was still out there right now, trying to piece his broken-self back together.

He'd wait for him, no matter how long it would take, no matter what problems would arise, he'd wait for the day Hershel Layton returned, and he'd welcome him back with open arms.

After all, no risk, no glory.


End file.
